


Without Precautions

by kingollie



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Every day i get on my silly little laptop and think about them, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, very glad they have their own platonic relationship tag now yepyep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingollie/pseuds/kingollie
Summary: Olivia is shot whilst doing fieldwork, it goes as well as you'd think.
Relationships: Lucas Grey & Olivia Hall
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Without Precautions

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in about two sittings and one of those sittings encompass 4/5ths of this fic, I did not proofread this. 
> 
> It's based in part on a random bit of dialogue from Colorado which implied Olivia had recently got an entire task force from Lucas, and my main thought was "man, something intense must have happened for him to dump that on her suddenly", hence this fic.

There was a split second where all Olivia could hear was the splintering crack of a rifle being fired, and an odd buffet against her side. The pain came immediately after, blooming in her lungs and spiking up through her entirely. Olivia wasn't sure if she had cried out or not when she crumpled down.

Drowning. That was the best concept Olivia could have used to describe what she was feeling; the bubbling retch that she would emit whenever she heaved rasping mouthfuls of air. Each sound she made was accompanied by a harrowing rattle, the gargling of liquid in her lungs - which bubbled and rose against the interior of her punctured organ. Although she couldn't entirely comprehend it at that point; the frazzled innards of her brain were only capable of supplying a constant berating of distress, she knew that it was very and drastically wrong. Confusion was the first thing she could really conjure up, which rapidly amalgamated into a knot of heavy distress; she breathed deeper. This was wrong. Really, really wrong.

A sharp, gasping breath rocked her lithe body again and despite the fact she was heaving in air - the action brought her little respite - instead it burned the insides of her throat and pulsed through her lungs, which felt heavy and useless in her chest. Everything stung. She attempted to breathe still, flaring her nostrils and snuffling uselessly. Fuck, it hurt. It ached and smothered and spilled more liquids into her organs. No matter how many breaths she drew in. Nothing helped. It was drowning. 

It was possibly the worst she'd ever recalled feeling - and the uselessness of breathing was something frightening on a primal level; there was no respite, no end to the pathetic gasping. For each breath did nothing except burn, drowning her deeper and deeper within her own fluids. But even then, she kept trying. Instinct supplying the same hope each time: that soon it would stop, that her lungs would have to help at some fucking point. Another mouthful of air was choked down and nothing. None of the desired oxygen. She wanted to feel something akin to the relief of air after holding your breath. 

When she moved, heaving herself onto her back, something sloshed about inside her. 

Both of her petrified eyes bubbled with tears. Her lungs didn't work. God! Why didn't they work? Olivia squeezed them shut, covering her face with her hands and bellowing as best she could. Coughing and spluttering, she rolled onto her side. She clutched where she had been shot, feeling the warm sloshing of blood, as it came bubbling from beneath her punctured skin.

Her ears buzzed a high-pitched note, vision popping and bubbling in accumulating spots. Her last thought was one of fading distress. 

When Olivia woke up, she was alone, laying uncomfortably upon her back - with a multitude of pillows propping her up at a sloped angle, a duvet pulled up to her collarbone and tucked in about her, leaving her unable to see any of the damage beneath it. The room she lay in was vacantly familiar, decked in rather minimal furniture aside from the bed she lay in and the medical equipment stored about her. There was a small armchair pulled up alongside her beside, in it was a small haphazardly stacked collection of books. No one was in the space with her, as far as she could tell. Olivia squinted in the direction of the ajar door and saw nothing moving through the slim crack of light it provided, nervously she inclined her head away and let it roll back against the pillows.

She took a breath, half expecting the same terrifying experience to continue, bracing herself with a small panicked twinge and squeezed her eyes shut. Instead of the perpetual inability to breathe, the air swelled in and she felt a sharp ache in her chest. It was glorious agony. And it was possible to breathe again. The painful shudders that wracked her when she did draw in breath didn't bother Olivia in the slightest, not after what she had just undergone. A small, ragged laugh escaped her, and she sluggishly pulled her arms until from beneath the sheets and used one to slowly knead at her eye sockets. 

It felt as though she wasn't quite yet in her body, everything moved an inkling too slow, digits were uncoordinated, movement felt stilted and uncomfortable. Olivia took another few rattling breaths, shifting upwards a little for a better vantage point over her environment, although it required her to squint through the warm darkness provided by the curtains; it had taken her a moment to recollect the house -- she was still in Reykjavik, in one of the backrooms of the militia’s largest safehouse. The air tasted sharp and stung at her nostrils, nipped at the bare skin of her shoulders, it drove a small shudder from her hunched form. Settling at an upright angle, the hacker was able to better assess her situation; her torso was almost completely bound from the armpits to the bottom of her ribcage in clean, fresh bandages.

“Yowch,” she rasped, her voice low and rough, the comment was made purely to fill the surroundings with something other than the sound of the wind whistling past the window, the distant creak of floorboards. If anyone else was in the house, they were further across the property and there certainly weren’t many people loitering inside, as the usual rumble of chatter didn’t carry to her.

Awkwardly, she reached up to massage at her temples with uncoordinated forefingers, the unpleasant frigidness of the Northern Hemisphere began to gnaw at the depths of her weary muscles. “ Ah, fuck, that hurts. “ Olivia hissed, her consciousness seeming only now to register the splitting headache crackling through her skull. “Everything hurts.” She hissed back at herself, pressing her face into her palms and digging the heel of each into her cheeks. “This sucks ass.” A small rattle of air escaped her, and she heaved back in through her nose. She was not about to start crying over this.

“What the hell are you doing?” The voice that cut through her trundling train of thought sudden and rough with distress, it was the familiarity of it that alarmed her most, and Olivia squeaked, jolting to turn towards the noise. Fast enough for it to immediately shoot pain up from her ribcage.

“Shit!” The woman spat, clutching at her side.

“You shouldn’t be- God, don’t move anymore.” Whatever it was the man was holding, it was quickly discarded upon the floor as he shot to her side. Olivia had taken his advice and remained rigid, still clinging to her ribs. “You need to lay back down, Livi, now.”

“Hi, Lucas, nice to see you too.”

“Lay down now, you can be a smartass once you’re not pulling all your stitches.” Despite the apparent jest, Olivia could hear the nerves prickling in his words. She shifted slightly, half moving back before a wince graced her features. 

“Can I have a hand? Everything really.. aches at the moment.” For the first time since he had come in, Olivia caught Lucas’ eyes, and something in his expression faltered the moment she did, features crumbling and softening into a look that was strangled and hurt. She tried to laugh it off, with a breathy “sorry” but it came out watery and shaking, Lucas crumpled further, brows pinched together in heavy concern. Olivia thumbed at her teary eyes and shrugged at him helplessly, not quite sure what to say. 

“Oh..,” Lucas reached for Olivia, awkwardly scooting onto the bed beside her, winding his arms about her narrow shoulders and pulling her close into the depths of his itchy, old turtleneck, Olivia snuffle-laughed - half sobbing, at the familiarity of the sensation. “You’re okay now.”

“Shit. I thought I was gonna die,” she half-gasped, pressing into the man’s shoulder, settling into his warmth - the sensation of her living, breathing father, driving home how real the experience she had was “-dad, I was... I thought that I was dead. Like -- y’know .. I wasn’t gonna see you again. It was,” Olivia could feel the warm tears on her cheeks, “fuck- scary, really really fucking scary. It hurt. I couldn't breathe."

"I know," his words came out low and hoarse, he tugged at the sleeve of his sweater, so it was pulled over his knuckles and dabbed at her face with the scratchy fabric. "I'm so sorry. You're here now, I'm not letting it happen again, I promise."

Lucas set his chin atop the woman's head, with her close-cropped hair she could feel the scratch of his stubble when he spoke. 

"You were shot and it punctured your lung, Liv, you didn't look great when they reached you. They called me, told me to come over.. just in case. And I did. Obviously." She felt him draw back a little to press a kiss, that was mostly beard bristle, to her temple and rolled her eyes warmly, his paternal instinct seemingly kicked in whenever either of them was in danger. It drew a wavering laugh from her, and he sniffed back and set his chin down again, squeezing her once with his broad arms.

"I was all the way in Colombia when they called and said what had happened, they didn't describe it entirely right - no one mentioned you were bleeding out alone and they found you unresponsive," there was a grit to his tone, and Olivia knew damn well that it meant those people would have been chewed out to no end, "and at first, well, I told them to hand me over to you- so I could tell you how stupid whatever it was that got you shot was."

"Of course." Olivia's words, all though punctuated with an eye-roll, were obviously in jest. Lucas huffed at her.

"You know damn well I would've come if you were bouncing off the walls the next day. I was just.. frightened." When he spoke, he shifted awkwardly to untangle her and lower her back against the mattress, so she no longer sat at a sloped angle, pulling the duvet up about her at a stupidly high angle - like one tucking in a particularly disobedient child. Although in his eyes, the woman imagined, that wouldn't have been far off.

Few people amongst the militia's ranks had ever noticed or anchored onto their closeness, most presumed that Lucas simply played favourites (he did, clearly, but it was fair in Olivia's eyes - she was his daughter or as good as). Those who did made no comment and kept respectfully out of their business. Graves had clocked it at one point, and while Olivia tried to keep conversation away from it, occasionally she had let inkling slip. She remembered complaining once about Lucas babying her, not letting her run errands alone, and Penelope had shrugged: 'well I mean, if he raised you, then as far as he's concerned you are his baby.'

That thought rattled around in her head as Lucas dropped back into the armchair at her side.

"You know when they told me what happened, what actually happened, I couldn't really be angry anymore, and the whole time I was travelling here all I remember was being so.. drained. What would be the point of finding my brother, of taking down Providence? Only for you to die before we'd even met." He shrugged.

"Spite?" Olivia offered, trying for humour. Lucas snorted. 

"Maybe."

"If it's anything, I'm really glad you came."

"I'm glad you're alive." He shifted in his chair, expression changing as he thought. "I know you're tough, but a bullet to a vital organ is not something to be brushed over. You stay in and do any computer work you can from a safe house. No fieldwork until I say so. You understand?" Olivia had been expecting as much and knew that it would be a long ass wait - longer than any other militia members, even upon potentially fatal injuries. 

"I got it." She felt the man scan her face for any signs of duplicitousness, seemingly he found none, as he leant back and closed his eyes with a rattling sigh, running his hands over his features.

"...Olivia?" 

She turned to him with a soft "hm?".

"Don't you dare scare me like that again."


End file.
